Devastation and Reform
by Fighter1357
Summary: Things fell before his very eyes, crumbling under the weight he'd placed on top of them and then stepped away and watched it fall; then he would try and scramble to clean it up, to fix things up. And he would only get an empty shell left in its place.


**Title: Devastation and Reform**

**Author: Fighter1357**

**Date of Publishing: 09.24.2012**

**Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians**

**Genre: Horror/Angst**

**A/N: I'm writing this to drown out my sorrows at the fact that I published a PJO story and got only one fav… and one follow… no reviews . By the same person. *sighs* I figured I'd try again. This is Percy slowly slipping into insanity.**

**Song: A few lines from Devastation and Reform by Reliant K**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing by the idea.**

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He was born for this, really. He could feel his mind, the back of his mind where the depths and shadows and darkness rested, telling him he was born for this. He always knew it; he had to admit, because nothing ever worked out. Things fell before his very eyes, crumbling under the weight he'd placed on top of them and then stepped away and watched it fall; then he would try and scramble to clean it up, to fix things up.

And he would only get an empty shell left in its place.

He was born for devastation and reform, destroying the things he came across and trying to fix it up, leaving his mind in scrambles and the ground in ruins. An empty shell. He was born to break things down, and then try and make it all better. Fear brought him down, fear of the self-destruction that lay behind his doors. The doors he shut and locked and hid behind.

He couldn't do that. It was too much. He would grasp his head and cry out, a pained, animalistic cry escaping from his lips and ripping from his throat. He couldn't handle his life falling around in pieces, leaving him to grasp at the rubble and try to build it back up. Devastation and reform. Wasn't that his life? His life in three words. Devastation and reform.

Devastation.

Reformation.

He would look up at the light and try to grasp at the tendrils that fell elegantly from the black sky, his eyes pleaded with the darkness, begging to let them see the light once it had slipped from his grasp. And then he fell into his empty shell called his mind. His scream echoed around the cavern of his mind. He flinched away from every touch, every sound. He'd break them all down.

One simple touch.

One small word.

It would all come crashing down.

Devastation.

He would grab it all at the end, begging himself to fix it. The darkness would only smile in return and shake its head in pity, the scarlet eyes closing in disappointment. It wasn't worth it anymore. Yet he would still grasp the rubble, the devastation, trying to build it back up into his empty memory, pouring his heart out, his empty shell where only the depths of darkened water lay churning, rumbling.

He was born for devastation and reform; destroy everything he loved. Everything he tried to keep safe, and yet he destroyed it all. He could see it. Through his clouded and faded eyes, he watched it all burn. He could hear his name being called. A soft whisper. He took comfort in it. Sometimes it rained, taking out the fires and leaving him the dark. He just screamed, falling down in the rubble and holding his head. It hurt too much.

Devastation and reform.

It was all a memory.

An empty shell.

Sometimes he could see his home but it was empty, dead. The faces of the people were gone, leaving empty eye sockets and voiceless mouths. He would turn away, back to the darkness, back to the road he tried not to turn on.

He was born for devastation and reform.

To live in this empty shell of a memory.

He was born for it.

So he grasped his sword and sat there in the shell, watching everything he ripped down. They fell over and over again and he just watched, giving up. He watched as the rivers became scarlet. It was all in his mind, his memory. But that's what a memory is, right? An empty shell of something that had happened. It held no significance. He just watched, turning his head toward it till it was just apart of his shell. That empty shell with the faceless people and the rubble strewn around him like air. It was normal. Constant. Regular. He was used to it.

He was born for this.

Born for devastation and reform.

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**A/N: As you could see, Percy is trapped in his mind. Insane. His name came from Annabeth and the rain was her tears. The mind is a fragile thing. Never let it fall. Keep it safe. Because really? What else would you have but an empty shell?**

**I'm not going to ask you to review, I'm glad you at least read it. **


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